together: rebuilding
by penwielder62
Summary: the 100: after we part. installment (7) of (8). post season two finale. laying the foundations for a new beginning.


**"together." + rebuilding**

installment (7) of (8) in my meta series " _the 100 + after we part_ "

(sequel to _co-leaders + returning_ )

(credit to the creators of the 100 where it is due.)

* * *

Clarke taking time to find her place in camp, reconnecting with those she left behind. Drifting, conversing, listening, relearning who she is with them.

Bellamy doing what he can to integrate her into daily life but knowing he can't hold her hand through it all. He has responsibilities and she needs to find her own way.

(This is the way it has always been.)

Bellamy trying to get Clarke to carry a gun when she's out of camp, in case anything happens, and Clarke refusing because I can't take another life, Bellamy. Him understanding but helplessness filling his chest because he won't–can't see her hurt, not again. Not in any way.

Bellamy being present when Kane offers Clarke a position identical to his–honorary council member and a leader of equal power–and is satisfied to hear her promise to consider it.

Clarke waiting until her mother is the only one who remains in the council room to whisper that _I can't, Mom. I can't. Not again. Not after–_ The tears come then and Clarke clinging tight to her when Abby crossed the room to hug her.

( _Not after the mountain_.)

Bellamy hearing about Clarke's decision to turn down any form of leadership from Kane the next morning and spending the day with the betrayal burning in his throat.

(It's supposed to be _him and her_. Not just _him_. Not anymore.)

Clarke feeling the tightness in her throat at the way Bellamy avoids her gaze during lunch and is scarce for the afternoon. Miller complies with a watchful gaze when she asks him to tell Bellamy that she'll explain, he just has to stop avoiding her.

Bellamy complying after the evening meal, jaw clenched tight as he enters the medical bay, devoid of life except for Clarke, who sits on one of the beds, arms crossed over her stomach. She looks too small; he has to stamp down the urge to go to her.

(He can't forget the way she felt in his arms that night by the bonfire. Hasn't stopped wanting that again.)

Clarke glancing up and seeing in that look how deeply she has hurt him by not stepping back into her place by his side. To and support him with every breath, every shared glance. _Bellamy_ –

Bellamy interrupting her, armed crossed tight, because if he doesn't speak now he won't be able to say what he needs to and _we need you, Clarke, why can't you see that? Our people need you._

(The _I need you_ gets stuck in his throat, this time.)

Clarke shaking her head, over and over, getting to her feet and sitting back down just as fast. _Please, Bellamy_. _You don't–_ and stopping because of course he knows, this is _Bellamy_. Dropping her head to her hands. Whispering, choking, _I can't–I_ can't _, Bellamy. After the mountain, after—all of them, I can't. I won't leave again and I will do everything I can to help our people, but I–I'm dangerous with that kind of power. What I did, Bell–_

Bellamy being frozen in place, nails digging into his elbows, listening and kicking himself, and then without pausing, _what we did, Clarke_. _You and me. We made that choice, we pulled that lever_.

(The _together_ does not need saying, this time.)

Clarke wiping the tears from her eyes with trembling fingers. I _t doesn't matter if we did it or if I did it or if the whole camp did it, Bellamy. What matters is that I was able to go to those lengths. I can't rationalize it to myself. And I can't risk that I won't do it again_.

Bellamy having to take a deep breath, turning away to lean his hands against the wall and process. He has to tell himself that _this is Clarke_ , this is Clarke, that he knows this is how she is.

(Has to tell himself that Clarke needs this from him.)

Clarke staring down at her hands, numb again, like she was for so many months. Starting when long, calloused fingers curl over hers, and looking up to his limitless brown gaze. The depth makes her breath catch in her chest.

Bellamy gripping her hands within his, feeling how much smaller they are, but holding eye contact. Voice rasping but managing, _okay. I want you to do this with me, but I want you here more. Just_ —he laughs, ducking his head.

Clarke watching as moisture blurs out his dark curls and blinking them back into focus, keeping her voice from trembling when she prompts him on. _Tell me, Bell_.

(It feels right, so right. Her tolling bell that led her home.)

Bellamy glancing at her with a crooked smile that doesn't quite mask the flicker of hope. _Be my sounding board? Nobody says when an idea is crap quite like you, princess_.

Clarke feeling mirth bubble in her chest, real and true, letting it escape past her lips and not being surprised by it. Of course he brought it out first. _Okay. Okay. I can do that_.

Bellamy forcing himself past her amusement, because she'll withdraw if he doesn't, he can feel it, and pushing to his feet, trying to let go of her hands but pausing when Clarke holds onto his fingers, rising after him.

(The intention in green-flecked blue twists inside him.)

Clarke not knowing her own intentions for long moments when she keeps his hands in hers until she's standing before him, but her mind is going back months to the clench of his jaw against hers and she wants to ease that ache.

Bellamy stilling when she reaches for him, pain burning because _he missed her, he missed her_ , but his world is returned to its axis when she steps close, all soft curves against his labor hardened lines, arms slipping around his waist, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.

(No one has ever fit against him like Clarke Griffin does.)

Clarke whispering against him, breathing him in, _I'm sorry it took me so long to believe you_.

( _You don't have to do this alone_.)

Bellamy letting out the breath she takes in, holding her tight and leaning his cheek against her loose hair. _It's okay, Clarke. Make it up to me and come get that drink with me_?

Clarke laughing again, heartfelt, what was it with him and that drink, but nodding, _I'd really like that_. Pulling back far enough that she can turn her head and kiss his temple, leaning her brow against the same spot, eyes closing.

(Life slowing to a halt and ceasing to exist for that moment. Nothing else belonging in that space except them and the tangibility of everything that stands between them.)

The drinks are awful because Jasper and Monty's latest batch was a new experiment with a new edible berry, but the fire blazes high and the alcohol burns and Clarke can feel their delinquents watching for a catch but Bellamy is watching her and how did she ever walk away from this.

Clarke still seeing Maya's radiation scarred flesh when she looks at Jasper, the weight of the horror she forced on Monty by what she asked him to do, knowing she should've kept Raven from the nightmare that worsened her leg, and feeling what Bellamy has fought for without her when he stands talking to Kane and her mother and there is no sign of the rebel, just the leader.

Clarke accepting her mother's request that she take on a half-dozen volunteers to begin training them to be healers. Agreeing with Abby's sentiment that we can never have too many medics.

(Many are Arkers, not Delinquents, and they hesitate to be alone with her, out in the forest where heavy quiet reminds them all of a danger that is gone because of _her_.)

Bellamy working hard to keep himself from seeking her out during his day, keeping to his routines, for the kids and the camp, but seeing her everywhere he looks, because Monroe will grin at the weirdest points in the day and Miller has to patrol towards the med-bay at least once an hour and he is regularly interrogated on where she is.

(No one wants to lose track of her, not for a moment. They're all terrified she'll slip through their fingers again.)

Clarke learning the rise and fall of life with greater ease than she'd thought, even though sometimes it feels as though her ribcage will crush her lungs. It helps when Bellamy starts sequestering their time after the evening meal, either at his tent or hers, and his excuse is _you promised to be my sounding board_ but it's more that he just wants to be with her, around her.

(She knows because she wants that too.)

Bellamy waking up one morning to realize that the crawling under his skin and the deadness in his chest is gone, has been gone for weeks, that it's easier to open his eyes in the morning and put his feet on the ground. He tells himself it isn't the reason, but can't deny the truth when he looks across his tent and blond curls are escaping from her pile of furs.

(There'd been a storm, weeks ago, all lighting and booming thunder, and Bellamy was with with the kids, like he always was during storms, when Monroe had bolted in, wild eyed and terrified, to say that Abby couldn't find Clarke.)

 _(Please, Bellamy, you've gotta go find her. We can't–)_

( _It's alright–we'll bring Clarke home. Get the others.)_

(Bellamy gathering Miller and Harper, Monroe and Monty, even Raven and bleary Wick, to search for her. Giving them tight orders to stay together when he himself has no partner–because his is out there. Rain battering on their heads, against their backs, blinding and driving, but they all set out in the torrential downpour, fanning out and shouting her name.)

(None of them will lose her again.)

(Bellamy standing for a moment, under the shelter of the forest. Scarce hearing the rain, focusing on _something else_ , something that tells him she needs him, this time she needs him.)

 _(Find her, she's waiting for you_.)

(Bellamy letting his feet and the burn in his chest lead him, fingers tight around his rifle as the shadows deepen and the gullies gush and he searches for her, because now he can finally go after her.)

(Bellamy spotting a whisper of white gold hunched against an ancient trunk that seems to curve around her wrecked body, a sheltering force in the driving storm, and he strides to her side, gun cast over his shoulder.)

(Clarke jerking when he touches her knee, but his other hand finds her hip, moving to the small of her back and easing her away from the tree, into his arms instead.)

(Bellamy feeling his throat tighten as she shudders against him, more broken then she ever shows, and gathering her close. Him lifting her up and tucking her head under his chin to ward off the pounding rain.)

(The walk back being much longer and the gate guards clustering around them when Bellamy draws close. _Radio the others, tell Doctor Griffin that I've got Clarke, and then batten down the hatches for the night._ )

(Clarke's fingers being wound tight in his shirt when he tries to set her down on his pallet– _he's not letting her out of his sight again, not after this–_ her eyes screwed shut but the crease in her brow easing when Bellamy leans down and presses his forehead against hers. _I'm not going anywhere, Clarke._ )

Abby fighting them tooth and nail on it, but Clarke moving into Bellamy's tent the very next day, after she wakes up with pain pounding behind her eyes to see him sleeping against the makeshift bed, her hand clasped within his even in slumber.

 _He needs her and she needs him. It's as simple as that_.

Bellamy rolling his eyes when the mom and dad jokes kick up in fervor but can't be annoyed because, it's good. This is good. Every morning starts with Clarke croaking about what he, she, _they_ need to get done, because she couldn't help but get involved in his responsibilities too.

Clarke having a long conversation with Abby a few weeks later, when the initial hubbub has faded away, trying to explain to her in halting words that _he's the reason I came back, Mom, he's the only one who gets it, and I_ trust _him._

(It's harder to explain how Bellamy never has to ask about the nightmares, that he knows to grip her hand tight and be her lifeline until the terrors die away. That he's never let her, not even when she walked away.)

Bellamy falling into the new normal without issue, going about his duties during the day, having lunches with the core four–Raven loudly complains that dad has no time for his kids anymore, even though he's no longer a single parent–and at night, crawling into his tent to find Clarke engrossed in her drawings of medical plants that she's been working on for weeks.

It's a start, a beginning. That's all he's asking for. Just to _be_ , with her. Everything else will come after.

* * *

(end _"together." + rebuilding_ )

thanks for perusing these scrawls


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